


Storms

by Melusine6619



Category: JAG
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melusine6619/pseuds/Melusine6619
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mac runs out on her wedding to Brumby, Harm goes to look for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written and posted in 2000 under the pen name OldHistory. Alternating viewpoints between Harm and Mac.

I can’t believe that she’s going through with it. Not Mac, not . . . Sarah. She can’t marry Mic Brumby. She can’t *want* to marry him. Not *him.*  
But she is. 

And I’m standing here, damned, because I let her go without ever even having her. I could have had her. Not because of some vain ego trip, but because I knew she loved me. I could read it in her eyes, could hear it in her voice. That soft, clear, beautiful voice that caressed each syllable as she spoke to me. When she wasn’t angry with me, like the time I’d sandbagged her. Then she’d spouted fire. That’s what I love about her. She is softness and fire, tenderness and passion. And it will never be mine. 

It could have been. 

But I was scared. What did I have to offer her? What could she possibly want with an old fighter-jock lawyer who is just as screwed up as she is? What could she possibly want with someone who knows her better than she knows herself? What could she possibly want with someone who loves her so much that he can’t even begin to tell her? Someone afraid to tell her. 

Mic wasn’t afraid. And look where he is, and look where I am. I’ve never been more jealous of anyone in my entire life. 

As she passes me on her on her walk up the aisle, I drift back to the day she’d given me the news. I’d been snorkeling on the reef and had just taken off my gear. She was waiting for me, and I had to notice how beautiful she looked with a sheer cover-up over her little bikini, her hair windblown, her cheeks sunkissed.

“Harm?” 

I waited, my heart in my throat. I had a feeling that I wasn’t going to like what was coming. She was entirely too serious, even for her.  
Her eyes found a spot on the horizon behind me as she took several deep breaths. “Mic asked me to marry him,” she began softly. “I . . . was going to say no, but I can’t think of any reason to turn him down.” 

I knew what she wanted to hear. She wanted me to give her that reason. She wanted me to grab her arms and shake her, to say, “You can’t marry him, Sarah. He’ll never love you the way I do!” But how did I know that he didn’t? And then I asked the most stupid question I’ve ever asked in my life: “Do you love him, Mac?” 

She nodded slowly. “Yes.” 

I couldn’t stand to hear any more. I gathered my gear and turned and walked away. She called my name, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t want to hear how much she loved Mic Brumby. 

I follow her progress up the aisle, and fight the urge to walk out. I can’t stand to watch this. Yes, she’s my best friend, but how can I watch the woman I love more than anything marry another man? I’ve never seen her looking more beautiful. More womanly, more desirable. It’s not just the low-cut white gown that contrasts with her dark brown hair and chestnut eyes. It’s the glow of warmth in those eyes. The promise of love and passion that should have been mine. 

“We are gathered here today . . .” 

I grip the seat of the pew as I struggle for composure. I know that I should be happy for her. And God, yes, I am. But I’m dying inside, too.  
I can’t take any more. I’m sorry, Mac. I tried. I start to stand. 

“Mr Rabb, it’s a wonder you win any cases at all if you give up this easily.” 

The whispered voice to my right halts my progress. I turn my head and meet the Admiral’s grim countenance. There is a challenge in that look, one I know too well. I sit back down. Does he know? Does everyone know? How could they not know, working in the office with us as they do? 

Oblivious to my pain, the cleric continues. “Do you, Michael Brumby, take this woman, Sarah MacKenzie, to be your lawfully wedded wife, from this day forward, to have and to hold, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, til death do you part?” 

“I do.” 

He sounds happy, confident as he looks into her eyes. I want to punch him in his smug face. 

“Do you, Sarah Mackenzie, take this man, Michael Brumby, to be your lawfully wedded husband . . . ?” 

I can barely hear the remainder of the question for the roaring in my ears. I can feel every vein in my head throbbing with the expectation of pain. I wipe my clammy hands against my dress-white pants. My throat aches with a sharp, scratchy rawness. My eyes sting with unshed tears. 

Please. *Please.* 

The church seems to have begun buzzing, but the chaplain is silent, waiting.

“I . . . .” 

I can hear her voice breaking. And then my breath leaves me in a rush as she stammers, “I, I can’t, Mic. I’m sorry.” 

Before anyone can stop her, she retreats back down the aisle. I silently beg her to glance my way, but she continues on. I can see the tears streaming down her face as she passes me for the second time today. And as happy and relieved as I feel that she didn’t go through with it, my heart breaks for her. 

\------------------------------------- 

It’s been a week since I’ve seen her. Work isn’t the same. I look across the bullpen, hoping for a glimpse of her in her little office. But the shades are drawn, the door locked. 

“She’s on leave, Commander,” Admiral Chegwidden snaps from behind. “Stop gawking at her office as if you expect her to materialize out of thin air.” 

I turn to look at him. As usual he looks implacable and unruffled, but I sense underneath that that he’s worried about her too. “Sir? Did she give an address where she might be?” 

“No, she did not.” 

“Isn’t that highly irregular, Sir?” I try to grin, but the effort fails miserably. 

He smirks slightly. “Yes it is, Commander, but this is a highly irregular situation, isn’t it?” He stalks toward the elevator before I can reply to that. “Aren’t you going home?” 

Home? Home to what? My empty rooms? My empty bed? 

But Chegwidden doesn’t give up, and I follow him out.

It’s only later, as I’m lying awake in bed, that I realize where she is.


	2. Chapter 2

Red Rock Mesa 

Lightning pierces the sky, pushing aside the surrounding blackness in crazy zigzag patterns. I wish it could illuminate some of the darkness inside me. But I don’t suppose anything really can. I’ve hurt, and I’ve hurt others too much to have any sort of relief. 

I take another sip of water from my bottle and listen to the sound of distant thunder. I’ve been here a few days. It’s been a week since I walked out of that church, leaving Mic standing at the altar looking like a fool. Does he hate me now? I wouldn’t blame him if he did. I should never have let things go so far, so quickly, but they’d taken on a life of their own and before I knew it, the minister was asking me if I would take Mic as my husband, forever. 

And something inside me had snapped. I couldn’t do it. Not to Mic. He didn’t deserve to be saddled with me for the rest of his life. Or even for the short time I’d surely have made him miserable. I love him, yes, but not enough. Not enough to make up for the pain I’d surely cause later. Hurting him then, before the ceremony was over, seemed the best thing to do. If only I’d been brave enough to do it sooner.  
I’d gone to his house afterward, to try and explain, but he already understood. 

“Sarah, I love you. You know that. I want you to be happy. Trouble is, I wanted to be the man to give you that happiness.” His smile had been rueful. It hadn’t touched his eyes. “Rabb’s a bloody stupid git if he doesn’t realize the truth by now.” 

“Mic--.” 

He’d put his finger to my lips, shushing me. How I wished I could love him the way he wanted me to. “No regrets, Sarah.” His mouth had brushed mine, softly, without passion. “Just don’t *not* tell him, all right. I don’t want to suffer for nothing.” 

My thoughts drift back to the present. No regrets. I wish that were true. I regret hurting Mic. He’s a great guy, really. Sure he’s annoying at times, but he’s also sweet, warm, funny, kind. He has so many good qualities, and he’ll make someone very happy one day. He really only has one flaw: he isn’t Harm. 

Harm. Another regret. My biggest one. I regret not taking a chance and telling Harm how I feel about him. I regret being afraid of damaging a friendship I cherish. He’s my best friend, the one who understands me better than anyone. But I want his love too, and that seems impossible. After all, I’m a colleague, and a relationship with him would only complicate things. Wouldn’t it? And why am I thinking about it, anyway? It’ll never happen. I have a better chance of making Chief of Staff than attracting one Harmon Rabb, Jr. 

A step behind me sends me whirling around. I relax my defensive stance as I see who it is, and I drink in the sight of him. He looks ruggedly devastating in a green plaid flannel shirt and jeans molded to his long legs. I lift my eyes to his face and nearly cry out at the bleak pain etched there. Dark circles are visible beneath his eyes, even in the faint light of the small campfire, and his mouth is set in a grim, determined line. 

“How did you know where I was?” 

“You said this was a good place to hide. I figured that’s what you were doing.” He drops his backpack and strides forward purposefully.  
I cross my arms, trying to keep my defenses up. It’s hard to, the way he’s looking at me. “I wasn’t hiding, I was thinking. Besides, the Admiral knows where I am. The question is, Harm, why are you here?” 

He stops just inches away from me, and the storm in his eyes brings an involuntary gasp to my lips. His expression is guarded with uncertainty, naked with loneliness, dark with hunger. I take a deep breath to fight off the sudden feeling that I’m a rabbit about to be devoured by a hawk. “You didn’t answer the question,” I remind him. I hope he doesn’t hear the tremor in my voice. 

He lifts one hand, as if to caress my face, then drops it slowly. His own voice is low, husky, aching, seductive. “I was worried about you. And, I missed you, Mac.” 

“Like you missed me when you went back to flying?” I turn away from him and face the gathering storm on the horizon. It’s only slightly less fierce than the one inside of me. “You could have called more than once or twice.” 

He spins me back around to face him. “I missed you every day. *Every* day,” he reiterates when I shake my head. “I didn’t call that often because hearing your voice made me lonely. I started having these little fantasies that you were waiting for me, that when the carrier docked, you’d be there, waving a flag for me. I know, stupid, huh?” And then his voice turns bitter. “And then the next thing I know, you’re going to marry Brumby. I felt like you’d kicked me in the gut.” 

This isn’t the Harm I know. The person standing before me is so far from the aggressive, confident, brash man I’ve come to know and love that my heart breaks. Have I brought him to this? I lift my eyes to his. “I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me before?” 

His eyes flash anger. And . . . jealousy? “You never gave me a chance. I came back and suddenly I was out and Brumby was in. What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh by the way, Mac, I think I may be falling in love with you. In fact I may already be there.’ It seemed kind of pointless with you getting married.” 

“But I didn’t,” I remind him, still trying to digest the words he’s just said to me. Harm is in love with me? My heart begins to thump erratically and my body feels uncomfortably warm. 

“But you didn’t. Why not? You said you loved him.” His hands grip my upper arms when I don’t respond and for long moments we stare at each other, my chest heaving, his lips tight. “Why not, Sarah? You can’t even say it, can you?” He drops his hands. “I should go. This is pointless.” He turns, picks up his pack, and begins to walk away. 

And I break. For once I don’t think about the ramifications. I don’t want to go on regretting. “Harm, wait!” I catch up with him, and he stops, but doesn’t look at me. I gather all my courage and forge ahead. “I never loved Mic. Not the way that I love you. Is that what you wanted to hear? That I’ve lain awake nights wanting you? That whenever I saw you with someone else I wanted to do her bodily harm? Did you want to hear how lost I felt when you left JAG to go flying again? Do you want to know,” my voice breaks, “how I’ve wondered what it would feel like to have your baby? Is that what you want to know? Are you happy now?” 

He turns to face me then. “It’s a start.” 

“You weren’t going to leave at all were you?” I accuse him softly. 

He shakes his head and grins, dropping his pack again. “Calculated risk. So sue me.” 

He’s suddenly back to being arrogant, and I start to turn away again. “You’re right. You should go.”

Strong arms enfold me from behind. “Mac.” His voice is filled with anguish and tenderness. “I’m sorry. I just had to know if it was wishful thinking on my part that you loved me half as much as I love you.” 

“What makes you think I don’t love you more,” I whisper, lifting a hand to caress his face tenderly. 

“Sarah.” 

He studies my face intently for long seconds as if memorizing every detail. And then he’s pulling me into his arms and holding me as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets me go. And then his lips are on mine and the fire that he ignites blazes to every corpuscle of my body. He’s gentle at first, exploring, caressing. Tender fingertips trail down my throat, and I slide my hands into his short thick hair, pulling him closer. I part my lips in surrender, and the touch of his tongue stroking inside feeds the ache in the pit of my stomach and between my thighs. I have wanted this for so long. Needed this. I am hungry for this man. The storm I’ve held in check for years unleashes full force. My own tongue moves to duel with his, not striving for control, but working together. Partners in an erotic dance. 

“Harm?” I murmur between nibbles of his bottom lip. 

“Yeah?” 

“Make love to me.”


	3. Chapter 3

I lean back to see her face clearly. “Are you sure you want this now? You don’t want to wait until we have a more romantic setting?” 

“I’ve waited four years, Harm,” she points out. She lifts a hand to trace circles on my shirt, and even through the flannel material, her touch burns. Her eyes meet mine steadily. “I want this, I want *you,* tonight.” 

I capitulate without any more argument. I’ve wanted this for a long time now, maybe as long as I’ve known her, but I’d always held back because we worked together, and we were friends. She hears my harsh groan of acceptance and pulls my head back down to hers. I twine my fingers through her hair and follow her lead. For now. Her lips are soft, moist. They move over mine with an endearing mixture of tentativeness and need, causing a surge of arousal and possessive tenderness to wash over me. I slide my hands slowly up and down her back, eager to feel her skin next to mine, yet afraid I’ll scare her with the ferocity of my own hunger. Carefully, I lower my hands to her jean-clad bottom and caress the shapely curves.  
A soft whimper escapes her, and she moves closer, nestling against my arousal. She slides a hand between us and strokes me through my jeans. My body responds with another rush of blood to my cock, and another groan escapes my throat. I lift my head slightly. “God, Sarah, you keep doing things like that, and it’ll all be over before we get started,” I half tease her. The truth is, I’m harder than I’ve ever been at the thought of holding her, touching her, loving her, and my restraint is being sorely tested. 

I hear the smile in her voice. “That bad?” 

“That good.” I move to capture her lips again, brushing mine over hers, enjoying her taste. Peaches and ice cream, that’s what she reminds me of. I trace my tongue over her lips, and she parts them willingly. I delve inside the warm recess, relishing the texture of mouth and teeth and tongue. I could go on kissing her forever, but I know that won’t satisfy the craving inside both of us. Eventually, we’ll have to have more, and I smile against her lips as I think of all the ways I can please her. I hope I can please her. I trail my fingers along her throat again, then follow their path with my mouth. 

She moans and arches her head back, offering better access, as I caress lovingly along the smooth column. I taste the slight saltiness of sweat, smell the soft fragrance of her skin. Her taste and scent, more than any wine, more than any perfume, is intoxicating. I find the pulse at the base of her throat and nip lightly before caressing the spot with my lips. 

She whispers my name in long, sighing breath. “Harm.” 

I smile again. God, I love this woman, love the way she reacts to my touch. I feel powerful and humbled at the same time. I will do everything I can to make this special for her. We may not have candlelight and roses, but we do have lightning and thunder. Somehow, with the way things have always been between us, that seems more appropriate. 

I lift her easily into my arms and find the spot beneath her left ear with my lips. I trace tiny circles there and feel her shiver, hear her moan. “This is your last chance to retreat, Marine.” 

“Surrender, yes; retreat, no,” she sighs back. 

I nod, and cradling her closely, I carry her to her sleeping bag. I release her slowly, and she slides down my front provocatively. I suppress the urge to react like a rutting male and throw her to the ground. Her fulfillment is more important than mine right now. She steps back and reaches for the hem of her tee shirt. I stop her with a touch of my hand. “Let me.” 

She nods and drops her hands as I begin to undress her. And suddenly I feel like a nervous teenager. Like it’s my first time. In a way it is--it’s the first time it’s meant not just anything, but *everything.* With shaking hands, I slide the garment off her, lingering over the smooth, silky skin like an adoring worshipper. And then I see what she’s wearing underneath: a black lacy bra. Oh my! Does she wear these under her uniforms, too? My breathing becomes erratic, and now my whole body is shaking as well. Trying to gain some control, I bend to unlace her boots. I remove them, and her socks, planting tiny kisses on each small foot. I lift my gaze to hers, then rise to my own feet slowly. Her eyes speak permission. I reach for the snap of her jeans, then the zipper. My hands are clumsy as I begin to work the jeans off her. How on Earth did she get such a tight pair on, anyway? 

And then I reach to unfasten her bra. The clasp is in front, thank goodness, because I don’t think I could manage reaching behind her to do it. I toss the garment on top of her other clothes. Then I slide my hands into the indentation of her waist, over the swell of her hips and slowly, belying the urgency I feel, slip them beneath the lacy fabric of her panties and lower them. She steps out, and I take in the sight of her. Full round breasts, hardened nipples, concave abdomen, hips flaring out into just the right amount of curves, and at the center, her dark brown delta of tight curls. All of my senses tune into this, and I ache with the need to be inside her. But not yet. I swallow hard. Several times.  
“Not too disappointing?” she asks, anxiety apparent in her voice. 

My own voice is harsh with passion as I meet her worried gaze. “My God, Sarah. You’re beautiful. How could you think I’d be disappointed?” 

“You’re awfully quiet,” she points out. 

“I’m awfully turned on.” I pull her back into my arms and begin to explore her bare skin. Silk. Satin. Firm muscle underneath supple flesh. I trace over every detail of her that I can reach, along the outside of her breasts pressed against me, down her sides, her back, her bare bottom. I bend my knees to continue my search down the back of her legs. I find the spot at the crooks of her knees, caressing lightly, and she sways against me, gripping my shoulders for support. I move, enough to hold her and keep her from falling, as I lower her down onto the sleeping bag.  
I feel a little self-conscious as she leans up on her elbows to watch me undress, but the glow of love and lust in her eyes dispels that. I don’t think any woman’s ever looked at me in quite that way. I work a few buttons free, then, impatient, I pull the shirt over my head. I lean over to untie my boots, tripping in my haste, and she smiles that beautiful smile of hers. And then my eyes search hers for signs of hesitation as I remove the jeans that fit an hour ago. I sigh with relief as I free my shaft from the confines of tight denim and cotton boxers.  
Sarah’s gaze, if anything, is frankly admiring. She smiles and beckons me closer, parting her legs in invitation. I settle between them, supporting my body above hers. She threads her fingers through my hair as her eyes lock with mine. 

“I’m in no hurry, Sarah,” I whisper. “Coming home to you wasn’t the only fantasy I had while I was on carrier duty. I’ve wanted this for a long time, and I plan to enjoy every minute of it. I want you to enjoy it too. I want to feel your body shaking. I want to see you hungry for me. I want to hear you call my name when you come. And then, I want to be so deep inside you that I’ll never want to come out again. I am going to make you mine.” 

Her eyes burn with fire, passion, hunger, excitement. Her smile lights up the night. “I think it’s time you stopped talking so much and present your case more thoroughly, Counselor.” 

I lower my mouth to hers. “Oh, I concur. Definitely.”


	4. Chapter 4

I am melting. My body has turned into one great big pool of liquid. His words, his touch, his magnificent body, have set into motion a maelstrom of lust more intense than anything I’ve ever felt. I don’t just want this man; I crave him. I arch toward him impatiently, but he gently pushes me back and teases my lips with his. Before I can pull him closer, he moves down and traces little circles on my throat, my shoulders. 

I run my fingers through his hair, tugging, but he takes his time, kissing his way toward my breasts. Work-roughened hands cup them gently, carefully. Little shards of pleasure splinter through me and careen straight down to my core. I can feel the moisture gathering there now. And I ache for the promised release. But true to his word, he is in no hurry. His thumbs glide over my nipples, stroking them into even harder buds, before rolling and pinching them tenderly between his fingers. I lift my hips toward his. “Harm,” I beg. 

 

“Not yet, baby.”  
Baby. I should resent that, I suppose. And I would, but right now I feel as coddled and helpless as any infant as he lavishes my breasts with more attention than they’ve ever received. He alternates stroking my nipples with squeezing my breasts, and I never know which he’s going to do next. It doesn’t matter. His touch is incredible, and another tremor shakes me as I remember he’s just getting started.

I feel a puff of warm breath, and then the heat of his mouth and the cool moisture of his tongue as he flicks one pebbly bud rapidly. I writhe beneath him at the exquisite torture and pull his head closer. He closes his mouth over me then and I cry out in pleasure as I feel the slight tug as he suckles me. I arch my back toward him and my hands glide over the taut muscles of his shoulders. Oh God! 

I must have spoken aloud, because he pauses and smiles at me. “You like that?” 

“Harm, you’re driving me crazy.” I lift my legs and slide them against his rough, hairy ones, hoping to return the favor.  
His smile broadens. “Good.” His body shifts, and his head moves down toward my abdomen. I close my eyes as his tongue flicks around my navel and then inside it. My hands clench into helpless fists. His hands find my breasts again and continue fondling them. And then he moves even lower and I prop up on my elbows to see what he means to do. 

My heart begins to beat even faster, and I didn’t think that was possible. Never in my wildest fantasies had I hoped to see Harmon Rabb poised between my thighs, a look of longing and lust and eagerness on his face. I swallow back a cry at the intent look in his eyes. I can’t breathe. I feel poised on the edge of a cliff as I wait for his intimate touch. 

He parts my thighs slightly more and plants gentle kisses on first the left, then the right. His eyes meet mine again. “Will you let me do this for you, Sarah?” 

How can I deny him? And even though I can’t speak right now, I nod my head slowly. 

Gentle fingers part my folds. “You are so wet,” he observes, his voice thick. “And beautiful. You look delicious. Are you?” His tongue slowly traces over my slot, then he pauses to answer his question. “Oh yes. So delicious. And so *hot.*” He strokes against me again and again, and I shudder with pleasure and anticipation. He is gentle, coaxing, as he explores my folds. And yes I feel wet, and yes, I feel so hot a drop of rain would sizzle on my skin right now. 

I nearly come off the sleeping bag when his mouth closes gently over my clitoris for a second. He ceases the overwhelming stimulation, and instead, slides one long digit slowly into me and begins stroking. His thumb replaces his tongue on the distended flesh, making tiny circles, pausing long enough to sweep his finger over me, using my own lubrication to make his movements smooth. His eyes meet mine. “Do you like this?” he pants. 

“Yes, yes.” 

He bends his head again and his tongue laps at the hardened bud mercilessly. Another finger joins the first. He continues stroking me, in and out, swirling his fingers deep inside me. His mouth closes over me again, this time with more demand. Everything inside me compresses into a huge knot of tension, with only one way to relieve it. Another minute and I’ll come. And he’s touching me in ways I’d never imagined possible. Not just physically, but inside my soul. The universe isn’t big enough to contain the dizzying rush of emotion that crashes over me. My body certainly isn’t. “Harm, that’s so good,” I sigh helplessly. 

“Show me,” he whispers. “Come for me, Sarah.” 

He suckles insistently, wrapping his mouth around my clitoris while his fingers stroke me, his hand moving softly against me, sending me over the edge. My body spasms as shockwave after shockwave of light explodes behind my eyeballs. I can barely hear him crooning my name for the roaring in my ears. I can’t stop trembling. “Harm!” 

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he whispers, and his voice is near my ear. The length of his body is pressed next to mine and tender lips nuzzle my throat again. A hand toys with my right nipple, then slips down to my throbbing center and softly strokes me. I am even wetter now than I was before. The release he’s given me begins to ebb away, leaving in its wake stark hunger. I reach between us and close my hand around his shaft. He’s very well endowed, more so than I’d imagined. But I’m not worried. I’m more than ready for him. I stroke firmly up, then down. He growls playfully, but when he rolls over and poises above me, his words are very serious. “Mac, I can’t wait any longer.” 

I pull his head to mine, taste myself on his lips. The sharing of my essence only adds to the charged heat enveloping us. I slide my lips away from his and beg him not to leave us both unfulfilled a moment longer. “Then don’t wait.” 

He nods and raises himself slightly, ready to take what I offer. “Look at me.” I do, and, his eyes locked with mine, he probes at the entrance to my body. And slowly, tenderly, he begins to fill me. Completely. Sheathed to the hilt, he whispers my name like a prayer. “Sarah.” 

He moves slowly at first, as if he’s afraid of hurting me. But there is no pain, only the deep ache of wanting more and more and more. My hands move to knead his back before slipping down to caress his rear and thighs. Somehow, my passion-fogged brain registers the feel of firm, tight muscle underneath warm, hairy skin. Then thought fades away as feeling takes over again. I revel in the texture of the crisp hairs tickling my chest, bask in the strong arms enfolding me, luxuriate in his cock so hard and full and pulsing deep inside me. He chants my name over and over again, his voice harsh with holding back. He whispers promises of pleasure to me as he pulls out, praises me as he strokes back into me. And everything, every move, every word, every sigh, every caress, sends me tumbling once again to the pinnacle. Nerve endings fire; muscles tighten. I am so close . . . . So close. 

Warm hands cup my bottom, and in spite of the sweat drenching him, his grip is firm. Almost painfully so. His fingers dig into my flesh, but I don’t mind. My own nails score his back with wanton frenzy. And once again, a wave of sensation washes over me. My muscle clenches him again and again, and I hear his harsh groan answering me. He lifts me higher, pulls me into him, pounds into me. I feel his body begin to jerk, then tighten. Hot fluid bathes me, sending me into yet another orgasm. 

And then the world is still; everything has stopped spinning. His breathing slowly becomes normal, as does mine, and he lifts his head to stare into my eyes. I sift trembling fingers through the damp locks of his hair. He smiles. “My God, Sarah, that was amazing.” 

“It was beautiful, Harm,” I agree. Then a memory flashes into view, and I smile. At his look, I explain, “I was just thinking about the first time that we were up here together. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. I know I won’t forget *this.*” 

“That *was* interesting that time. But then I was all tied up.” My smile broadens as his face feigns shock. “You wouldn’t?” 

“Never know,” I laugh, pulling him close for another kiss. “Could be fun.” 

“Sarah Mackenzie, you never cease to surprise me.” 

“I hope not, Commander,” I tease, moving my mouth to his once more. “I hope not.” 

\-------------------------  


Finis


End file.
